Bloggers of the Round Table

things we shall not get used to

Sometimes on blogs, there's a bit of a lull. It can happen. No one seems to be around, and the tell tale signs are the milk going off in the fridge, and the bread in the bread bin going slightly green.

But I'm back now, with fresh milk purchased - and the green bits cut off the bread. I've been away leading a retreat in Glastonbury, and though I do not seek your applause, a good time we had of it amid the rich autumn colours of Somerset.

And what did we discover? All sorts. It was Dostoyevsky who defined humans as 'beings who can get used to anything' and we certainly discovered this to be so. So many of us had 'got used to things' that were killing us. So they were duly left behind with the rotting leaves - because there are some things we should just never get used to.

And I'm now thinking of Victor Frankl, after the allies had liberated his concentration camp. A few days after the liberation, he walked from the camp to a nearby village. Brutalised and numbed by his experiences, he was only slowly getting back to human feelings. So much lost; so much to be recovered inside. But as he walked through the fields, he had only one sentence in his head: 'I called to the Lord from my narrow prison, and he answered me in the freedom of space.'

The freedom of space - it's what retreats are about.

Bus Shop!

Now I just love shopping and find it impossible to buy anything until i've looked at all the options in the shop just to be sure i've made the right choice, unlike my friend Lisa who knows what she wants and chooses to get to the shops when they open and prides herself on being home in under an hour before any of the serious shoppers are out of bed.
But even she'd be impressed at what I saw this morning.
I was on the bus going to work when the driver stopped beside a clothes stall, he negotiated and brought a nightdress in about three minutes flat without even moving out of his seat.
Now that's impressive!

Indestructible

It's hard losing your alter-ego. Certainly not to be tried at home, folks! Indeed, it can feel like your own personal annihilation.

This has been my experience anyway. Since my alter-ego of the Bojangles Mattress Bank sadly passed away, I have been truly wondering 'What's left?' I've been drinking my coffee and cleaning the sink, sure - but wondering if I still exist.

Terrible terrors flood over me and through me, unbidden and unwanted. At one point I was sat on the sofa, convinced that if I changed channel I would disintegrate. Mad! (Especially as I was watching 'The X Factor' which no one should stay with for too long.)

But you know what? It seems I'm fine, and have not been annihilated. Whatever has died was clearly not essential to me. Indeed, my psyche feels rather fresh and envigourated this morning. The energy of life flows through my body and soul, cleansed in some way, from absurd imaginings.

I exist. I'm substantial. And - I strongly suspect - indestructible.
I'm back - so expect fireworks!!!!!!

(Discerning readers will note I haven't lost any of my pungent topicality. 'Expect fireworks'...wonderful stuff...edgy...so, like, now...that sort of thing...)

Our sun is sinking from us..

Upon my word we passed a most agreeable Hallowe'en at the Knights' Hall. 'No fine silk or bonnets to be worn' it said on the invitations written in the elegant cursive script of Sir Cum Locution. We arrived shortly after sundown. Drab Eileen and the Grim reaper came along with me on Dick Thresher's wagon. The road is a sea of mud and village flotsam I hoped that Gwen the one eyed widow was taking a ride with Mr Kipling in the Child Catcher's barouche.
We were ushered in to the Great Hall, and bear with me, dear reader, but I could not but feel a smug glow of satisfaction seeing the golden tones of the Round Table radiating mahogany in the candle light.The work with the beeswax has paid off, and no mistake.
We began with a game of apple bobbing in the scullery. Now you will see why bonnets were forbidden though the mob caps we had fashioned to preserve our modesty were quickly drowned and with our hands behind our backs and our heads in the tin bath we were a sight to raise a laugh from all but the glummest. Then with our faces dripping we had to remove the ring from the bowl of flour in our teeth. It seemed that only half of us had teeth and Sir Lee de Meanour was not amused at this sport, nor at our titters of amusement when he rose from the plate, his face white enough to frighten the Archdeacon and no mistake.No one can accuse us of not being edgy and contemporary in this village.
So now to All Souls day and a precious gleaming of sunshine as the leaves tumble. The healer in Oat Cottage is stacking a log pile and still offering cabbage leaf healing to the passers by. Mrs Spittle had her apple press ouside her door and there has been a good deal of running hither with the apples and thither with all manner of quaint containers. The Rector caught a chill,I'm not saying that it was the night of the apple bobbing but he staggered home looking most bedraggled and conducted Matins in full Muffler this morning. I'll take him a bowl of poached sweatbreads if he's no better tomorrow.
The village is preparing itself for the rigours of Winter. Have we salted enough pork belly? Are there kippers still for tea? Will the Bracombe Ouse rise above it's banks and drown us all? Are there enough rafts of measures? So many questions to perplex us as the light leaves us with shorter and shorter days.
I might seek solace at the Frog and Ferret this evening and share a Gin and It with the ratcatcher's mother.

My Joy

I am currently in a state of happiness which has lasted for two weeks and is continuing. At times I cannot help smiling to myself and feel like I may burst with joy.
After 18 years of being asleep to the world and trying to avoid my pain, six years ago I was offered a job that would shape my future from then on. This job would lead me to discover who I was and teach me to love myself. Unknown at the time, this job was also going to take me on a journey of personal development and show me my passions and my gifts.
Since that point, I have realised my calling and feel so relieved to find it. Everyday I learn a little more and I shall keep on doing so on this wonderful journey of self discovery.
I have a glowing bulb of happiness alive and glowing inside of me ready to take on the next challenge.
I am now ready and if I ever go back it will only be for a brief and true visit until I return to my present which is my home.

Discard the Mask

Learn to be still
Quiet and strong
Let yourself cry
When you sense something wrong
Open your eyes
Be ready to see
Respond to the dance
And learn to be free
Accept you're not right
Accept you're not wrong
You're fluid and changing
And moving along
Feel what you feel
And then let it pass
Be true to yourself
And discard the mask.

R.I.P - The founder of BOMB

We hereby announce the sad passing of Mr Bojangles' alter ego - founder of the highly successful Bojangles Mattress Bank.

He died in his sleep, surrounded by those he loved - both notes and coins.

He wrote a final message, however, on the back of a cheque for half a million pounds. At last, a use for it!

'No flowers, please, my friends.
Let them stay where they are; grow where they are.
Let them flourish in their own soil, all rooted and fine.
And I wish the same for you.'

End things at BOMB

I'm lying here, spent, (unlike my money) and waiting for the sunrise.

I can still just see the eastern skies through a hole in my piles of cash. And I'm looking forward to the lightening glory. It'll more than make up for all those I haven't seen or noticed down the years. Each day is precious - and every day a prize, as they say.

The postman is leaving the cash outside the door now. He can't force anymore in. I am bloated with currency, almost literally. I woke a couple of times last night with £2000 in my mouth, which may be hard to swallow, but is true. It was eye-watering more than mouth-watering.

But don't cry on my account. I'm crying on yours - safe here at BOMB, but not helping me greatly. As I watch the eastern skies, waiting for my last sunrise. And it's true, by the way - it is darkest just before the dawn.

Cheque it sometime...they say that the ability to make puns is the last function the human loses....so goodbye,my friends...I'll see the sunrise, and then take my leave...I'm looking across the river of death and looking to the bank on the other side...

The downside of banking

There's still money coming in through the door every day. So much money - money to die for, in many ways! Each wretched delivery entraps me further, wedging me betwixt mattress and ceiling. Thanks, Mr Postman, but no thanks! Go away! For so long, i wanted you to come - all my life. But now I want you to stop. What you bring me - it doesn't help.

My phone rings occasionally, but i cannot reach it to answer. And I'm not sure I now have the strength. So who knows who is trying to make contact? And with what messages? I do wonder.

Last night, I watched the big harvest moon, hanging shiny and round in the black sky. And then slowly, the pink and blue fringes, as dawn broke in the East. Down on the street below, some early morning laughter. Rather wonderful.

I'd like a drink, actually. I may be richer than Croesus, but what i really want is a drink. Some water...

Banking news - good and bad

There's good news and bad news in my banking saga today.

The good news is that I have had such an influx of cash since the whole Icelandic debacle, that I have had to buy another mattress to put it all under. Loads and loads of crisp bank notes surround me which is a pretty good picture of heaven, eh??!

The bad news is that, given the cramped nature of my flat, I can now reach neither the door nor the kitchen. I can't even get to my phone.

I have alot of money, but i appear to be trapped. And isolated.

We'll have to see...

BOMB - stock market news

Greetings again, as I put down my latest printout of the Nikkei index which is down 489 points - and I won't even try and put into layman's terms what that actually means!

But let's start with some praise. One of you recently called me 'a complete banker', which I appreciate - thank you! I didn't come into this for praise, but if it comes - so be it. I am not resting on my laurels, however. Instead, I'm resting on your money (!) here at BOMB (the Bojangles Mattress Bank.)

But like Barclays, I will not be accepting any government cash today. It's really very difficult to breathe at night with my nose pressed against the ceiling - any more cash beneath me could seriously damage my health!

But these are stressful times. I opened the bank as a largely charitable venture - yet find myself increasingly caught up in a pretty dark world of subterfuge. Just yesterday, I found my postman opening my mail - until his false moustache fell off, revealing 'my postman' to be none other than a leading hedge fund manager!
'And another thing - there is no post on Sunday!' I added rather mischievously, as I kicked him to the ground!

And then this morning, I discovered a financial journalist pretending to be my cleaner! I spotted him at once, of course, because I don't have a cleaner. And Robert Peston looked very silly in that bright yellow apron.

But get this. He then offered me £1000 for inside information. I said I'd sleep on it.

We were helpless with laughter.

Further financial update from BOMB

What a day of globe trotting!

When I set up the Bojangles Mattress Bank, (BOMB) little did I realise that I would be in quite such demand. Today, just for the record, I have had long conversations with both Sarkozy and Merkel. Unfortunately, there wasn't a translator present, so I didn't understand a word from beginning to end. (Neither appear to be English.)

Actually, I had a similar experience when talking with President Bush in Washington yesterday. Couldn't follow a word he said either. But I think that may have been because he was talking bollocks.

Anyway, enough of this financial dissection of the world markets. I'm probably losing you with my technical language. But let me state quite publicly that I completely agree with Gordon about the need to pump liquidity into the system.

That's right! It's definitely time we all had a cup of tea.

Bring your harps, and bring your incense..

Had Ron's Collider not impaled itself in the body of the milk cart in Stoat Lane, the infestation at Grotty Hovel might have been much worse. As the gold top swilled into the hedgerow the rats were out of the door in a thrice and lapping it up. Miss Stoat was away, either with the fairies or nursing an elderly relative in Watling. As luck would have it, little Boy Blue was mooching around, he never seems to have much to do, and he hot footed it to the Stranglers' Arms where the rat catcher was toying with his usual Cinzano and lemon and mulling over his crediti crunch with Sir Vice Provider. Picture his eyes lighting up as Boy Blue lisped the news of this upturning of events.
So, with the mellow fruitfulness season, and I cannot remember if I told you about the Harvest lunch, the house groups have reconvened round the Bracombe hearths. The Rector is pushing us to discuss, at great length, the purpose driven life. Or was it the life driven purpose?
The old Schoolmaster and his dog host a group in Anvil Cottage. The garden opens on to Stoat lane and the dog ran a close second to the Rat Catcher when cleaning up the milk spillage. Well, the Grim Reaper has joined Miss Sourdough, Mrs Minchin, Tom, (the Piper's son),and Mr Kipling, who provides the nibbles. Sir Lee Demeanour used to attend regularly but was seen to be reading the Methodist Magazine during Matins. It might well have escaped notice but for the fact that he knocked his sword to the floor during the Venite and our attention was attracted to this non 1662 publication.
The bumper apple crop has us all bottling and jamming and filling our store cupboards. Newly arrived Miss Scarlet Temptress has been alarming the elderly with talk of Botulism. We know nothing of this and suspect it is something they do in the towns and cities. She'll forget her health and safety directives once the elderberry wine kicks in.
The day looks fine, I've promised to help starch the white nappery at the Knights' Hall this morning.

Losing it for 24 hours

I lost it for 24 hours. Money that is. Quite a lot of it. I was one of the many with savings in the Icelandic bank that went under. It turns out that it didn't really exist anyway. It was just a number on the screen of the internet bank. One day it was there, the next the website was not accessible and our money gone. Thanks to Mr Darling he promises that we will get it back.
It turns out that money is only a concept. OK there are notes and coins but most of the money changing hands in the world does not exist. It is just numbers on the computer screens of people working in the financial centres of the world. So if it doesn't really exist does it matter whether we have it or not?

]]> I am surprised really that I did not lose it, mentally I mean. The money we lost and then found was money to buy us a house to live in. It included an advance on my inheritance from my parents. It had value for what it might have bought, what it might have become, but it had no real value in our present lives sitting in a bank.
We realised we were not much worse off. We had each other, nobody had died, we have jobs, we have a roof over our heads (OK it's rented but who cares), we have enough money to buy food. So basically our life in the present was still OK.
It was a hard way to find out what money means. Maybe I should have taken up Mr Bojangles offer of the BOMB after all.

Nice to Know

My grandson aged 5 was on the computer playing a game when my daughter commented on how quickly he was moving up through the levels, "well" he said "if you get the watch and then press the z key everything blows up and you move up a level" my daughter asked him who had shown him how to do that " noone, I just know it in my head" he replied and went back to his game. Five minutes later he turned round to us both and stated "I think God put it in there"
Nice to know God's keeping up with the latest technology and it gives a whole different meaning to 'God be in my head and in my understanding!'